I Want Never Gets
by OrangeShipper
Summary: Mary takes her teasing of Matthew one step too far, when he pays too much attention to the things she says. Married!M/M, entirely gratuitous smut, slight kink themes. Very M.


A/N: _Well. I'm not QUITE sure what to say about this one. After the one-shot I posted the other day with a smuttish ode to Matthew's hands (Hiding in Plain Sight), it seemed there was rather a demand to elaborate on one little phrase in there._

_And. Um. Can't quite believe I wrote it, but... here it is! Massive thanks to EOlivet for the polish!  
_

_I do hope you enjoy it. :)  
_

* * *

**I Want Never Gets**

She was doing it on purpose. Matthew was sure of it.

Sitting across from him in the Dower House's drawing room, Mary shifted again on the settee and crossed her legs. The sheer material of her dress fluttered back around her silk-clad calves, tapering down to her delicately boned ankles…

He swallowed, smiled at Violet hoping that she hadn't just asked him a question, and shifted a little in his chair.

"I'm sure Isobel would quite like to," he heard his wife say in response to whatever it had been. "Don't you think, darling?"

Startled, he turned to glance at her in time to see… her hands rubbing gently over her knees, her dress slipping up just a _fraction_ under her palms.

He coughed. "Yes, I'm – sure she would." Smiling faintly, he hoped he'd not just condemned his mother to anything too terrible. But as Mary stood up for them to leave, and walked past him with her hips swaying tantalisingly at his eye level before he had the chance to rise himself, he couldn't think anymore quite why he cared.

As they settled into the car, he glanced sideways at his wife from his position behind the steering wheel.

"You were doing that on purpose," he muttered.

"I don't know what you mean, darling!" And she did it again, crossing her legs at the knee and… her dress was nearly that high, now, her legs smooth and pale under the white silk… These shorter, waif-like fashions would be the end of him.

"You know perfectly well," he hissed under his breath as he moved the car off, cursing himself now for deciding to drive himself as his hands were too… occupied.

The drive seemed to take twice as long as usual, at least. When they finally pulled back in to Crawley House, and Matthew walked around the car to help her out, his eyes hooded over as Mary stretched one elegant leg out of the car and then the other, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek before she hurried inside. He hurried in after her, and as the door shut behind them he gripped her hips and spun her into his arms, moving to trap her between his body and the wall while he peppered little kisses across her neck and collarbone.

"Matthew!" she gasped, any gesture to push him away being purely for show. "What's gotten into you?"

"You," he growled against her neck, making her shiver with delight. At last he relented and caught her lower lip between his own, sucking gently for a moment before returning the hot pressure of his lips to her neck, where he could feel her pulse flutter and race. "You _knew_ that I could… see…"

Her head fell back against the wall as she whispered, "I didn't think you liked these stockings, darling…"

"Oh, I like them," he murmured, his tongue flicking out quickly to taste just below her ear. "They're simply not my favourites. But you know which those are. And you won't… wear them…"

She gasped, and somehow brought his face to hers until they were nose to nose, their quickened breaths mingling between them and eyes glittering darkly.

"Well I think if you like them _so_ much I should save them for –"

"_When_?" Matthew groaned pitifully, brushing his thumb over her soft cheek, seeking her lips again. She pulled away and chuckled seductively.

"I don't know why you like them _so_ much anyway. They're only – quite ordinary silk, and – the lace edging isn't so _very_ different from –"

"Oh God, Mary…" he breathed, his eyes fluttering shut as arousal pulsed through his veins at the thought of them, and… _her_, in them, and… _only_ them. She knew. She _knew_ how he adored that the silk was so fine, so sheer, that he could see her skin through their delicate shimmer of white. How he adored the feel of it under his hands, against his hips and back as they made love, slipping so smoothly against his skin…

And yet she had only given him that pleasure once, and refused to wear them since. "_Please_," he whispered against her ear, but she only chuckled again and pushed gently at his chest, pressing her lips lightly to his own.

"Do you want me to wear them?" she murmured, blinking up at him from hooded, dark eyes.

"Yes…"

She brought her lips to his ear, her fingertips grasping gently at his hips. "I want, never gets…"

And she left him, breathless and throbbing with arousal against the wall, as she suddenly remembered she had a telegram to send in the village.

* * *

Whether his wife intended him to or not, Matthew found himself taking those tauntingly whispered words as a challenge. Mary, on the other hand, hardly gave them a second thought for the rest of the evening, beyond the odd sly, knowing smile at Matthew's endearing frustration over dinner. She imagined he would have taken her to bed the moment she returned, if it weren't for the fact his mother had arrived home in the meantime. Instead, then, they had to manage through their usual evening routine of formalities and pleasantries and… trying (and failing) to think about anything but the promise of the other's warm body, naked in their arms, that soon… so soon, would be realised.

Matthew gave in first, claiming he wanted to look over one case paper again before he went to sleep. Isobel raised her eyebrows as he left, glanced at Mary's perfectly neutral expression and went back to the letter she was writing. Mary supposed it to be a lie (and she didn't care if it had been the gospel truth, she would have followed him anyway), making her own excuses a short ten minutes later.

As she'd expected, Matthew was waiting for her. When she came into their bedroom, he was already in bed, and she could see from the neatly folded clothes and pyjamas on the chaise that she would not have the pleasure of divesting him even of a scrap of it.

They didn't need to say anything. He leaned up on one elbow, and in full view of his gaze Mary began to undress. She felt the heat of his eyes upon her as her dress slipped softly to the floor, and she stepped delicately out of its puddle around her feet. Her corset followed swiftly, and then her camisole, and with a wicked smile (and considering the subject of their earlier murmurings) she shimmied out of her undergarments till she stood before him, clad only in her silken stockings.

"I'd hoped you'd leave those on." His warm breath heated her skin as she slid into bed, his lips instantly seeking her chest where he pressed a teasing kiss between her breasts.

Mary sighed contentedly as his hands began to roam across her body, his palms hot and smooth against her taut skin, and he eased up to kiss her properly. She opened her mouth to him eagerly, a quiet whimper escaping her throat as his tongue flicked against hers, the weight of his body pressing down on her deliciously. He shifted slightly to his knees, one on each side of her hips, to free his hands that quickly found hers, their fingers lacing together as their kiss intensified, heat smouldering between them. Matthew groaned, rocked against her gently and she arched up, feeling the stroke of him against her belly as his hands slipped down hers, his fingers curling tightly around her wrists and pinning them against the mattress.

Writhing helplessly beneath him as his teeth nipped softly at her lips, a deep sigh of pleasure shuddered from Mary's body. While she fought for, _demanded_, control in every part of her life – here, in this bed (or not), in his arms, under his hands… she really didn't mind relinquishing herself to him. In fact there was something quite liberating, even arousing, about it – to give herself up to him by choice, to allow herself to be dominated by him, this reversal of power that could only be theirs, and only here.

She barely noticed that he'd shifted, realising only when she felt the moist softness of his lips kissing delicately at the inside of her wrist. His hands trailed ever so lightly up, and down, her arm… to her wrist, down to her elbow, up again, to her palm… the sensations of his lips and fingers ticklish and then… silk.

Silk?

Her eyes flew open and she twisted her head, to see her wrist bound securely against their bedpost with... her best silk stockings (one of them). She gasped, her free hand covering her mouth, where Matthew instantly took it and laced his fingers through hers, preventing her resistance (though she put up none).

He grinned absolutely wickedly.

"Do you trust me?" he whispered, bending to brush a tender kiss to her lips. Her eyes opened again to meet his, and she saw that they were only full of love, desire, passion… and arousal blazed through her veins.

"Yes," she replied breathlessly.

"Good."

He brought her hand to his lips, and kissed her palm, and each finger, then the pale skin inside her wrist… before lifting it gently to another bedpost, where his long, quick fingers deftly slipped the other silken stocking into a secure knot that held her there.

"But Matthew, my – stockings!" she gasped. "Do you realise how expensive those were!"

He shuffled a little way down the bed again, lowering his face to hers where he flicked his tongue across her lips and then raised up just enough, just out of her reach. She strained at the unusual position forced by her bound wrists, moaning softly as she ached for his lips.

"Well… You wouldn't wear them, so I supposed you wouldn't mind them getting a little - ragged," he murmured deeply, his very voice sending delicious shudders through her whole body. She was transfixed. He lowered again and her lips parted breathlessly, and he allowed them to brush against his with the faintest touch as he carried on. "In any case, I will buy you a new pair. Two pairs. And…"

"Yes?"

He licked his lips. "When I want you to wear them, my darling… you will wear them."

He touched his finger to her lips and her tongue darted out, wetting the tip, which trailed from her chin all the way to her belly, hovering just above the dark curls of hair at the top of her thighs. She shuddered in anticipation, arching her hips upward to no avail.

"Oh – God!" The exclamation squeaked from her lips as his finger _finally_ slipped between her legs and stroked where she had ached from him, her body thrusting helplessly up to meet him in the same instant as his lips closed over her breast.

He'd barely touched her, and her body was on fire. Perhaps that was the very point, she couldn't tell any more, only that every inch of her begged for the pressure of his hands or his lips, and… after a few, torturous moments of simply sitting by her side, allowing his finger to graze like a feather over her breasts, he shunted down and turned his attention to… her legs, instead.

The tension in her muscles was unbearable, tight, wonderful, as she strained against her ties towards his mouth. But his hands held her firm, as did the tightness of the silk knotted against her wrists, as he dusted kisses from her ankles, to her knees… twisting onto his back for a moment as he lifted each leg and kissed the underside, then kneeling again to work up her thighs. His lips sucked against the stockings she still wore, his tongue leaving them wet against her skin, up to the lace edging and no further, and… oh _God_, it was agony! Delicious, glorious agony, as her legs started to tremble with anticipation and his hands closed around her thighs, and… with a sharp, ripping tear that cut through the air, she found her legs bared.

"Matthew!" she cried, biting down on her lip to stifle a helpless shriek of pleasure as in one swift movement (she wasn't sure she knew _how_, she didn't care) his hands had hooked under her knees to push them up, apart, opening her completely to him as his mouth lowered and closed upon her intimately, his tongue dipping within her to the accompaniment of his hot, desperate groan.

Every muscle in her arms tightened, her fingers splaying out then curling into tight fists, as she bucked and shuddered against the restraint of the silk and his hands. She felt faint, hot, alight, as he licked across her, and again, then quicker, building up a fast rhythm of licking, lapping, sucking, until she couldn't distinguish one from the other and her body flamed, and shook, sharp stabs of arousal lancing almost (but never, never) painfully from where his mouth incessantly pleasured her to her very fingertips… and even when she splintered, screamed, almost sobbed in ecstasy as her hips jerked against his lips he did not stop… only kissed her, licked her, a little more gently, and when she moaned in delight a little quicker again, and how she _longed_ to sink her fingers into his hair, how she yearned to press herself more fully against him only she was trapped so wondrously… At last he released one of her legs and it fell across his shoulder, trembling as his lips and his tongue and his… fingers, then, stroked over her and in her, quickening in time with the hot pants of his breath against her as she gasped and shuddered and – finally, _finally_, shattered in helpless bliss once more.

Limpness settled into every limb, as Matthew's hands stroked up her abdomen in a path followed by his mouth until he reached her lips, his arms curling under her back as he kissed her deeply.

"My God, I love you," he murmured as their lips slipped apart, and the only response she could muster was a breathless grin.

"Mmm," she hummed, and he knew that she was alright. Her arms were beginning to ache, just a little, but… she was content to wait until her husband chose to release her. She'd never… _never_ imagined anything like this, and she didn't know _where_ it had come from but the fact alone that he had thought of it and… _done_ it, was arousing enough.

Oh, but she couldn't think of that now, because he was… easing her thighs apart again, pushing into her, filling her. Too exhausted to restrain herself, she moaned, and again as he thrust leisurely into her, his body powerful and beautiful above her. She forced her eyes open to see him, arched her back up, pushed against him as much as she could, gasping in pleasure as he grasped her hips and pumped into her, quicker and quicker.

She was beautiful beneath him, her body stretched and taut with her arms raised above her head, and Matthew felt faint with the strength of desire that coursed through him. As he thrust into her powerfully, and again, his jaw tightened and he groaned, his very skin and soul burning with the feel of her clenching around him. His back curled, lips lowering to her breasts and she rocked up against him, he could feel her straining, gasping, _trying_… and without another thought his hands traced up her arms and his fingers quickly freed her, crying out in pleasure as her hands instantly clutched his hair and his back.

Together at last in this more familiar way, the friction between their hot bodies quickened in moments to fever pitch, their hips slapping together as they rocked and thrust and clung to each other. Mary's hands were everywhere, or so it felt, and as he felt her stiffen and tighten around him with a breathless shout, her nails dug into the slick flesh of his back. A guttural moan forced past his lips at the sensation and he thrust again, losing control, pulling her tightly against his body as he fell apart in her arms with a grunted yell before falling weakly beside her, their limbs tangled together.

"Oh God," he whispered, and Mary twisted her head to see his face beside her. His eyes fluttered open, and they both smiled, though the effort it took was immense. "Thank you."

"Shhh." Her hand lazily stroked over his back, damp with sweat, and she turned on her side to nestle closer to him. "You know… you owe me three pairs, really. For the ones you tore."

Matthew swallowed thickly. "…Forgot those. I'll buy you four."

"Alright," she hummed, her eyes closing again as the welcome weight of drowsiness settled over her. "But I think… you'd better make sure you're not… _too_ fond of them, darling."

"Oh?" His gentle frown of confusion made Mary giggle fondly, wondering at the contrast from his arousing confidence only minutes before.

"Well," she breathed, pressing languid kisses to his neck. "I think it'd be prudent, considering… how you've quite ruined the ones you favoured."

"Oh. Perhaps." He licked his lips and rolled to his side, pulling his wife snugly into his arms. "Does that mean… you'd _let_ me ruin another pair?"

"…Perhaps."

**Fin**

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A/N: _Well, I think it's safe to say that could hardly be described as 'tasteful'! But I very much hope you enjoyed it, and I've love to know what you thought. _


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